


You'll Never Know, Dear

by sailaway



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Angst, Best Friends, Friendship, Jealousy, Pining, Starfleet Academy, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailaway/pseuds/sailaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk was as warm and golden as the sun and, it seemed sometimes to Leonard McCoy, about as distant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Never Know, Dear

Jim Kirk was as warm and golden as the sun and, it seemed sometimes to Leonard McCoy, about as distant. McCoy soaked up what rays he could, though, a plant turning to follow the light, basking unobtrusively but perhaps a little too devoutly. Jim had his moments, of course, when his baby blues burned a little too brightly and his brow knitted and his jaw got hard, but that was the exception to the rule, usually prompted only by outside stimuli such as instructors Jim deemed incompetent, or bullies picking on the littlest cadets, or copious amounts of liquor. 

“Aren't you just a ray of sunshine,” McCoy would grouse, pretending Jim's lively disposition irritated him. It could be draining, and it seemed centuries since McCoy had that kind of energy (if ever) but, as Jim smugly observed, obviously it didn't bother him all that much or he'd find another best friend. Kid had a point.

If McCoy was really a plant, at least a plant that a Jim-sun shone on, he'd be a greedy one, the kind that crowds out all the other, prettier flowers. If only, he thought as Jim bestowed smile after incandescent smile on anything with a shapely rump and a heartbeat. It wasn't that Jim never smiled at him because he did, all the time, but that McCoy privately wished he'd smile only at him. Jim could curve his mouth at whoever he liked if only he'd save that knowing, glowing, tempting sort of smile for his pal Bones. 

At least he got to stick around, which was more that could be said for the string of hookups that seem to come in and out of Jim's life as if through a revolving door. On one level McCoy pitied them, at least the ones who wanted more than Jim was willing to give. He could relate. On another he resented them, envied the experience that could only ever be a figment of his imagination; the feel of Jim's ribs under his hands, the flex of his hips, that plush mouth in an O of pleasure, the slide of tawny hair through his fingers. 

Of course, he had his own private stash of memories which he guarded like a treasure horde, revisiting from time to time when self-pity got the best of him. The night after finals when they got roaring drunk and Jim started throwing old papers out the window. The first time Jim saw him clean-shaven and called him “baby face,” which earned him a glare that could blister paint but didn't seem to faze him in the slightest. That weekend Jim dragged him barhopping and got absolutely tanked, and in the cab home his head bobbed, and lurched, and eventually settled on McCoy's shoulder, and McCoy grumbled and rolled his eyes but didn't budge. The times when Jim would ignore his “stay away” scowl and clap him on the back and make some smart-ass joke, which really should be obnoxious as hell. The trusting, grateful light in his eyes when McCoy patched up his battered face after another bar fight. He'd wager it wasn't often Jim looked at people like that.

So it wasn't all bad, McCoy would conclude, with a reminder not to be such a pathetic child. He was too damn old to have crushes, to moon around like a teenager. He had Jim's friendship, and that was a valuable thing. More important than hearts and flowers, than gasps and groping in the dark. It would just be nice if he didn't have to keep telling himself that. 

Besides, the mess and rawness and heartache of the divorce, while fading, had probably left him unsuited to any kind of romantic relationship. Another thing he staunchly assured himself when he felt that annoying little pang somewhere to the left of his sternum when Jim laughed, or brushed against him, or did anything at all in his general direction. 

It was just easier. Yeah. Much easier. Better not to have to see the confusion and pity in Jim's eyes, if he realized how wretchedly his favorite drinking bud pined after him. Better to avoid the awkwardness that would follow, the uncomfortable silences, the slow drift apart. 

Because if there was anything he couldn't deal with, it was that. 

So he'd protect his secrets carefully, keep it all clamped down tight under lock and key where it couldn't hurt anyone. And when Jim flitted in and out of his day, exuberant as a puppy and about as annoying, he'd take what he could get, and let the sun warm him down to his bones.


End file.
